by Maya William
“But why invite people to the party?” I ask, still confused. “She already invited herself to it.”
Legolas and Bennedick eye each other and cock their head to one side.
“Because Portia needs to impress the popular group,” Darcy kindly explains. “Your family and friends stole the glory from the former ones. My theory is either she wants to become part of your group…”
If she knew the real reason for their presence here, she’d run the other way.
“…or stomp you all to the ground.” She slams her hand against the table, as if crushing a small insect.
I flinch at the image. Why would they want to do that to us? Why can’t they live and let live?
Before I can speak my thoughts, a ping comes from Darcy’s cell phone.
“Bingo! Theone confirmed it. Anya and Portia are the ones inviting everyone.” She shakes her head disapprovingly.
I knew about Portia, but Anya?
Darcy’s knuckles whiten as she holds her phone. “And to top it off they’re now telling everybody to invite their friends. The more, the merrier,” she adds with a fake laugh.
What in Lucifer’s name did I do to make Portia and Anya act this way?
“Your house isn’t large enough to host such a big crowd,” Legolas points out. “You need to tell Joy and your family about this whole thing.”
“Yeah, Sammie, before they learn about it from someone else,” Darcy agrees, tilting her head toward my family’s usual table.
When I glance over at them, the blood rushes to my feet.
“See you on Friday, bro!” a guy chirps as he passes their table.
Archie raises his hand and waves goodbye, his eyebrows drawn together. He turns to Barb and Joy, who didn’t pay attention to what just happened.
Oh, Big Guy, do you really need me to tell them? I mean, honestly, they won’t know who started it.
The whole situation breaks my heart. All the hours everybody put into planning the party, and now I’ve ruined it.
Imagining how angry everyone will be chokes me; the instinct to flee overpowers me.
I need to get out of here. Now! Before they find out and— Shoot!
Without a second thought, I stand, grab my backpack, and rush toward the exit.
“Sammie, wait up! Where are you going?” Darcy follows me, catching up with me outside the cafeteria.
“To church. I need to confess before I tell my family how I ruined the party,” I reply.
Her head jerks back, and her eyebrows draw together. “Why?”
“Because somebody will kill me once they learn about it,” I explain.
I’m overwhelmed picturing Joy’s sad face, Barb crying, Lyra comforting both of them, while Abigail gives me her death glare.
Yeah, Big Guy, it seems I’ll be knocking on Saint Peter’s door soon. Should I pick my number now to avoid the line at the entrance?
Or worse, maybe I won’t need to pick a number since my new residence won’t be in such a heavenly place?
Darcy’s hand gets a hold of my arm and stops me from moving any farther. “If you leave, I’ll be the one killing you. Mom warned me about a cooking test!” She sounds as agonized as I am. “I’ll flunk her class without your help.”
Really? My life is ending and all she can think about is cooking class?
“How about I drive you to…well…wherever you go for confession if you help me?” She puts her hands together, pleading.
Oh well, might as well help a friend before death comes to collect, and earn some extra points for Saint Peter to consider.
“Okay, fine,” I reluctantly agree. “But you’ll need to wait for me at church because I’ll probably need a ride back home as well.”
“Deal!” She shakes my hand, sealing the deal of skipping the rest of the classes.
My hands sweat as I kneel inside the confessional.
“Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned.” My voice comes out shaky.
Thankfully, the priest seated on the other side can’t see me. Internally, I praise the Big Guy for the level of anonymity this offers. Back at Saint Magdalene, the priest insisted on doing them face-to-face, making it completely embarrassing for me to tell him about all my indiscretions while seeing his reaction.
The familiar voice of Father Gomez comes from the other side of the booth. “How long has it been since your last confession?”
Nuts! Why couldn’t it be another priest?
I clear my throat. “Two months? Probably a little longer,” I reply, not wanting to lie to the priest, but not remembering the exact date of my last confession.
Well, if I lie, no harm done. After all, I already planned to confess this specific sin.
He chuckles at my uncertainty. “What are the sins you want to confess?”
“Well…” My mind draws a blank. Honestly, before stepping inside the booth, I’d memorized the list.
Dancing, no problem. I can easily deliver a performance with a packed theater. Confessing to a priest who can’t see me, and I develop stage fright. The irony.
“So, I finally got a serial killer?” Father Gomez asks, sounding a little too excited.
“No, Father.” I press my lips to keep my laughter at bay. “Just a girl with teenage sins.”
Ha! I can totally do this!
“Then, go ahead. Tell me what has troubled your mind and soul.”
I take a deep breath to calm my nerves, close my eyes, and exhale. “I have been mean to my sister.” I bring down one of my fingers to count them as I speak, making sure to go through my list, hopefully as fast as I can. “I had some…ahem…not-clean thoughts about a boy I like.” My face warms up.
Oh, Big Guy, how embarrassing.
“Uh-huh,” he answers, encouraging me to speak more.
“I’ve taken the Lord’s name in vain—well, not out loud, but in my head—at least a couple of times.” I pause, allowing time for the priest to reprimand me, but he keeps quiet as if waiting for me to get to the end. “Plus, I punched a girl and broke her nose.”
“Oh! Well, that doesn’t sound very nice,” he exclaims. He probably didn’t expect this from a girl.
“Well, Father, I didn’t do it on purpose. I tripped over my school bag, and my hand accidentally hit her nose on my way down.” This secret has been eating me alive for the last month. Confessing it feels as if a weight lifts from my shoulders. “But she’s making a speedy recovery, or so I’ve heard,” I add for good measure.
Hopefully, this will reduce my penance. Although, deep down, I know she deserved it. At least a little.
Big Guy, I hope it wasn’t in me to be the one to ultimately hurt her.
“Anything else?”
“I got expelled from school because of it and lied to my family about the incident.” Hopefully, he’ll understand that my sin didn’t go unpunished.
“About it being an accident? Why? Care to explain?” He sounds confused.
Since when does a priest care about the logic behind committing a sin?
“Because I never corrected them. Technically, I lied by omission.”
He actually laughs about this.
“And I repeatedly continued lying to them afterward, and I might be in deep trouble because of it.”
My last finger comes down, and the heaviness in my chest releases. I’m relieved that the torture is about to come to an end, and that I can drag my behind out of the church soon.
“And what do you plan to do now?”
My mouth opens and closes several times in shock.
A priest has never asked me this before.
“Try not to lie again?” I say in a dubious tone, offering the first answer that pops into my head.
“Well obviously”—I can practically hear his eyes rolling—“but…do you plan to rectify the misunderstanding? You lied to your family. I believe they are entitled to your honesty.”
“What?”
“You need to come clean. Consider that your penance. Otherwise, I as
sume you aren’t actually repenting. Ergo, the confession wouldn’t be valid.”
Can I get, like, a ton of Hail Marys and Our Fathers and be done with it? I don’t know if I’ll have a heartbeat after confessing about the party.
“But, what if by lying I protected them?” I argue, trying to negotiate my way out of his penance.
He keeps quiet for a while. “You’ll need to decide which lies were to protect them and which ones were to save your neck. Plus, trust your family. If, as you say, you’re in deep trouble because you lied, they should be there to help you.”
But… But… I don’t wanna.
“The truth will set you free, Little Dove.”
Ugh, fine!
Wait! What the heck? He knows it’s me? Great, Big Guy, now I’m even more embarrassed.
OMBG! I told him about the naughty thoughts. Shoot. Me. Now.
My hands go up to cover my face, which is red as a tomato. “Y-y-you knew it was me?”
“Samantha, of course. I saw you enter the church before you decided to stop by and pay me a visit here. And believe me, after Miss Carnegie, your confession comes like a breath of fresh air. I wish I could tell you how often she comes in, with the same repertoire. Obviously, she does not learn from her mistakes, and I don’t want that for you. You need to come clean with your family,” he finishes. “So, how about we finish your confession, and if you want, we can discuss what happened and figure out which lies you used to protect your family and not your ass.”
Father Gomez saying the A-word stumps me into silence.
“Or you can explain them here, whichever you like. I have a lot of time and a lack of people ready to confess their sins,” he adds.
I peek through the curtain, and to my dismay, he’s right; not a single soul.
Darn it!
“Okay, fine,” I agree reluctantly.
“Oh, and by the way,” he adds, “care to tell me who the guy you like is?”
Oh, brother! He is nosy, nosy, nosy.
“I believe a secret doesn’t classify as a sin, Father. Therefore, I’ll keep this secret between the Big Guy and me,” I reply, making him laugh.
“Fair enough, Little Dove. Although, I believe Mrs. Solis would be thrilled if the guy in question happens to be Samuel,” he pries, probably hoping for me to spill the beans.
Nice try, Father Gomez.
“Oh, my God, I am heartily sorry for having offended you, and I detest all my sins…” I add, cutting him off.
“Okay, fine, be like that, Little Dove. I’ll give you absolution,” he adds, laughing, “and even a little help.”
I continue the prayer, holding back the laughter trying to escape.
He might be a nosy priest, but he’s kind of cool, and, Big Guy, I may need more than a little help.
Darcy and the twins drop me off at my house after we make a quick stop at their father’s small store to buy a few items I need for dinner.
Once home, I get straight to cooking, trying to distract my mind and nerves. It works as a temporary solution until everything is almost done.
For once, I appreciate the family’s busy schedule. Among investigation at Calvary, Samuel’s final rehearsals with Maria, and getting items for Joy’s party, none of them set foot in the house all afternoon.
Yikes! All the fantastic work they’ve done, but because of all the guests, it’s going to go down to…a colder place, according to Dante Alighieri.
To avoid the temptation of backing out, I send a text to everyone, requesting an emergency family meeting. To whet their curiosity, I don’t explain my reasons for calling one.
Okay, no backing out now. Big Guy, don’t let my courage abandon me.
Not wanting to spend the rest of the time before they get home answering calls and messages, giving away the “surprise,” I turn off my phone’s ringer and put it in my room.
Instead, I set the table and work on the iced tea for dinner. I’m happy to see the roast beef cooked perfectly through, and the smell of the gravy for the mashed potatoes permeates the air.
My hands shake while removing my apron, and with a critical eye, I confirm there aren’t any stains on my black dress.
The front door opens while I’m removing the scrunchie I use while cooking from my hair.
Showtime, Big Guy. Please let the guys be the first ones to arrive.
As I walk to the dining room area, Zach, Archie, and Oliver enter the house.
Finally, something goes the way I ask!
“Samantha, what’s wrong?” Zach steps closer, his eyes going from the top of my head to my feet. He relaxes after confirming that all my body parts are accounted for.
He probably thought I chopped my finger off or something.
“We should wait for the rest of the family to arrive.” I gesture for them to take a seat in the living room area.
Confused, Archie and Zach turn to Oliver, as if hoping he can shine some light on this mystery.
He shakes his head, as ignorant as they are.
Archie’s eyes narrow as he studies my dress, then shift to the table, which I’ve elegantly set.
“Smells wonderful, Samantha. What did you cook?” He arches an eyebrow and gives me what looks like a phony smile.
“First we talk, then we eat.” I sit on one of the sofas and arrange my dress to keep me modest. “And don’t you dare go into the kitchen for a peek, or to steal a bite,” I warn him.
His hands lift in defeat. He knows better than to cross me when food is involved.
“Should we go and change?” Oliver asks, looking at my dress.
“Nope.” I shake my head and turn my gaze to the floor.
“Ooookay?” he replies.
Lucky for me, somebody else arrives, their voices breaking our silence.
“This better be an emergency. I have, like, tons of things to do before Friday,” Barb warns the moment she steps into the house.
This time, she’ll be the one shooting me once she learns what happened. At least I already partially confessed my sins.
“Baby, Samantha wouldn’t have called for an emergency meeting if it wasn’t—” Kellan replies while opening the door.
“Samantha was the one to call the meeting? Is she okay?” She sounds concerned now.
“We don’t know. She didn’t reply—” Joy stops midsentence when she steps through the door and sees the boys.
Oliver shakes his head, asking her to pipe down.
“Is there something wrong, Darling?” Barb steps into my line of view.
I shrug.
“I swear, I’ll kick his ass if he did something to you,” Joy threatens, her gaze moving from Zach to Archie.
Well, she’ll probably kick my behind for ruining her party.
“Where’s Samantha? Is she all right?” Abigail barges into the house, her voice desperate and full of concern.
Zach stands and runs to meet her halfway.
“She’s fine,” Zach quickly answers, calming her down.
“I told you, she looked fine in the cameras.” Lyra steps in, closing the door behind her. “She was cooking and setting the table last I looked.”
Stupid cameras!
I glance around and identifying the guilty one, hoping for a moment that my death stare kills it.
“Then why didn’t she answer the phone?” Abigail asks.
Barb stands and moves over to her.
“Whatever she wants to tell us must need to be done in person,” Oliver guesses.
Silence falls over the room. I dare to look up and notice everybody sharing glances, probably hoping for one of them to know and tell them what’s happening.
Abigail’s lips scrunch, and she shakes her head. “I am going to shoot him!”
“Hey, we don’t know if this whole situation is about him,” Archie says, jumping into defense mode.
The door flies open, and Samuel runs through it. He still wears his dance clothes, as if he dropped everything the moment he received the message.
Jesus!
Maria will probably join the Samantha firing squad since I stole Samuel from practice.
Oh well, the more, the merrier…
“Is she all right?” His face is a mask of terror. “Did she cut herself or burn her hand?”
Why is everybody assuming I’m hurt?
“What did you do?” Abigail shouts.
Prepared to meet her death glare, I turn toward my sister, but she’s glaring at Samuel, not me.
Zach quickly steps in and keeps her from charging him.
Samuel raises his hands, palms out. “Nothing done! I spent all afternoon rehearsing with Maria.”
Her hands ball and her nostrils flare. “Then, what has Natalie done?”
Why do they think she’s part of this?
Quickly, I stand and get between Samuel and my sister, not wanting to find out what will happen if Zach releases his grip on Abigail’s arm.
“I didn’t burn myself or cut off a finger. I didn’t sprain my ankle or break any bones. The kitchen is still in one piece, and I haven’t burned down the house, any trees, or dinner,” I explain, trying to put their worries to rest, dissolve the tension, and redirect their worry toward me. “But I need to confess something, and I’d appreciate if you could all take a seat and allow me to explain.”
Everybody stops arguing and turns their eyes to me.
Wow, I can’t believe that worked.
“Well, you heard her, come and sit down,” Oliver orders after a small pause. “Archie, Kellan, please bring a couple of chairs from the dining room.”
Everybody immediately obeys. Samuel stops in front of me and looks me over, as if to make sure I’m telling the truth. Our eyes meet, and he silently asks me if everything’s all right. I look at the floor and tilt my head to one side, signaling he should go and join the rest of them.
Big Guy, give me courage and strength. Or a swift and painless death.
“Why are there eleven settings at the table?” Archie asks once he returns carrying one of the chairs.
One surprise at a time, shall we?
I fix my gaze on the window, not daring to look at any of them. “Last Monday, I invited Darcy to the birthday party, and on Tuesday the rest of the O’Flannagan family.”
“Samantha, you already told us about it, and we didn’t have a problem with it,” Barb immediately replies, sounding relieved. “In fact, we practically told you to invite her brothers as well.”
